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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596515">If One Cannot Remember, One Cannot Grieve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie'>blueeyesandpie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Compliant, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Hurt / Comfort, M/M, Time Loop, but it seems like it for a second, canon-compliant through 15x19, djinn dream, minor Saileen and mentions of related pregnancy, no one actually dies in this fic, oh yeah I guess that means this is also technically a, references to canon MCD which I immediately fix, weird dreams and/or nightmares</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:47:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,455</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596515</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie/pseuds/blueeyesandpie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has the perfect house, the perfect life, and the perfect husband. He has some weird dreams and Sammy sure says some wild shit about djinn dreams  when he gets drunk, but that's easy enough to ignore—right up until it isn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>If One Cannot Remember, One Cannot Grieve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/gifts">badritual</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for the Profound Bond Gift Exchange. Beta'd by oriana, who is a wonderful human being and should definitely go to bed now. :P</p><p>Anyway! </p><p>I admit I am a little nervous about this one. Your likes and a djinn fic request you made right when pairings were announced got my gears rolling, but thanks to the canon-compliance of it all, I do touch on some angsty themes. I'll just....wait here, then?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steady beeping works its way into Dean’s dreams.</p><p>He tries to outrun it, tries to make it stop, tries to <em>escape</em>, but nothing works. He’s trapped, the sound echoing and throbbing in his head like a determined fist on a door. His head is splitting and his chest hurts from running and fear. There’s someone with him, but their mouth is glued shut with shadows and no matter how Dean turns, he can’t see their face.</p><p>The details start to fade, each insistent <em>beep</em> driving more fog between Dean and his companion. By the time he realizes he’s fully awake, the only thing he can remember is the storeroom he’d been standing in. He’s quite sure he’s never seen a space like that in his life...and equally certain that he knows it like he knows his own name, could list the contents of every single box down to the last toothpick if requested. </p><p>His phone is still beeping. Dean fumbles for it, staring bleary-eyed at the display that tells him his alarm has been going off for a solid ten minutes. He jabs the “dismiss” button and lets the damn thing fall off the bed completely. </p><p>Blessed silence, save for a slight nasal rumble from the other side of the bed, greets Dean’s overstimulated ears. He sighs with relief, then rolls toward the one remaining sound.</p><p>The last wispy details of Dean’s dream fade entirely as he noses at Cas’s shoulder. Cas makes an appreciative sound—just because he <em>can</em> sleep through an air raid siren doesn’t mean he likes alarms any more than Dean does—and lets his head roll to the side as if to say <em>more, please</em>. Dean smiles at the invitation and lifts his chin to press kisses along his lover’s jaw.</p><p>Their arms slide around each other easy as breathing, their legs tangle, their bodies fit together as if made for that purpose. Cas squeezes Dean’s shoulders, and in a matter of seconds his breath evens back to the slow, steady rhythm of deep slumber.</p><p><em>I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world</em>, Dean thinks affectionately, and then he’s slipping, sliding, tripping backward, and inky tendrils pull him into the void.</p><p>-</p><p>They have a full ranch spread for breakfast, sitting together in the airy breakfast nook that had been half the reason Dean insisted on <em>this house</em> when they were looking. The newspaper arrives while Dean is eating the last bit of bacon; he laughs and refills Cas’s coffee before heading to the garage. Cas will be busy reading for a while, and Baby needs an oil change.</p><p>He spends an hour or two tinkering in the garage, but then Cas comes out to tend to the garden. Dean takes the opportunity to mow the lawn, whistling merrily and taking opportune moments to stop and stretch when he knows Cas is watching. </p><p>Any time Dean passes near, Cas tucks a small flower or a twig into his hair or clothing. The fourth or fifth time this happens, Dean stops the mower and pushes Cas against the porch rail, crowding into his space to kiss him silly. </p><p>Cas pretends to push him away, then gives in with a chuckle when Dean catches him by the belt loops and pulls them back together. His returning caress is fire to Dean’s smoldering ash, a bright invitation that Dean has never been able to refuse. He’s suddenly hungry for more, burning for it to the point it’s easy to forget they’re in the front yard in full view of the entire freaking world. He loves. He <em>wants</em>, and he can <em>have</em>—</p><p>Dean’s eyes sting and his heart turns over painfully in his chest. He pulls away to run his tongue over suddenly parched flesh while he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. When he focuses on Cas again, their faces are so close Dean can feel their mingled breath on his skin. “I love you so much,” Dean whispers, his fingers brushing over Cas’s jaw. “Don’t do this, Cas.”</p><p>“Don’t do what?” Cas asks, his brows drawn together in confusion. He steps back and takes Dean’s chin in his hand, turning his head back and forth like he’s looking for something. “Are you okay, Dean?”</p><p>The sun is warm and golden, the grass is green, and Cas’s eyes are a beautiful blue despite that worried frown. </p><p>“I—what?” Dean blinks and shakes himself. He thinks he catches a whiff of fresh turned dirt, but then it’s gone. “Nothing. I guess I can’t believe we finally got here.” He feels his way with his words like he might pitch straight into a chasm if he isn’t careful. </p><p>A small smile graces Cas’s face. “It has been a long road, hasn’t it?” He moves to loop his arm around Dean’s waist. “Let’s get you some water, honey.”</p><p>-</p><p>Sam and Eileen drop by for dinner. </p><p>“Her name is Maura!” Eileen announces the second she’s in the door. She’s vibrant with joy, her fingers flashing excitedly and her smile threatening to crack her face in two as she tells them about her ultrasound. For the first time Dean understands why some people use “glowing” to describe pregnancy. </p><p>Sam never strays far from Eileen’s side, but he’s more withdrawn than Dean would have expected, and hardly touches his food. He keeps looking at Dean like he wants to say something, but then his gaze slips to Cas, he quirks his lips up oddly, and he settles back to staring at his plate. </p><p>Eileen and Cas are in the kitchen dishing out pie and ice cream when Dean finally sees his chance.</p><p>“What’s going on?” he asks, dropping onto the couch next to his brother and nudging a cold beer into his hand. “Eileen is over the moon, but you’re acting like you’re at a funeral.”</p><p>Sam looks at the beer, looks at Dean, then after a moment of visible struggle, puts it to his lips—and drains the entire thing in one go. “We need to talk,” Sam says as he puts the empty bottle on the coffee table. Then he sits back, <em>finally</em> looking Dean in the face. “It’s important.” </p><p>“So talk,” Dean makes a flippy gesture with his hands, “unless you’d rather drown yourself a bit more first.”</p><p>Eileen’s laughter rings through the open door, followed by a deep chuckle. Sam flinches, his fingers rubbing at his wedding ring as if for comfort.</p><p>“You’re dreaming, Dean,” he says, the words rattling off as if they’ve been rehearsed many times before. “The life you’re living isn’t real. The house? Eileen?” He pauses, his eyes drifting toward the kitchen significantly, “you and Cas. None of this is actually happening.”</p><p>“What the hell, man. That ain’t funny.” Sam has pulled some shitty pranks in his day, but this one doesn’t even deserve the time of day, let alone a laugh.</p><p>“Do I look like I’m laughing?”</p><p><em>Blink. </em>Sam’s wearing some sort of flannel under a brown jacket. There’s blood splattered on his face and they’re surrounded by cold air that reeks of death. <em>Blink</em>. They’re on the couch in a room that smells like pie, and Sam’s wearing the same faded peace sign shirt he’d been wearing all night. </p><p>“Cas died, Jack left, and you—you just fucking gave up, okay? You fed yourself to a djinn, I guess. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” </p><p>His words hang in the air as Dean considers how to respond to such an utterly laughable speech. “You’re cut off for the night, big boy,” he says finally, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m gonna get Eileen, and you’re going to go home and get some sleep. Don’t trip on your way up the stairs though.”</p><p>Sam makes a frustrated sound. “I’m not drunk and this isn’t some kind of joke, Dean. You have to believe me. I know this place is...basically every good dream you’ve ever had rolled into one. I get it, I really do, but you have to wake up now. You <em>have</em> to, or you’re going to die.” He sounds desperate, like Dean’s actually going to keel over in his own living room at the age of forty two.</p><p>Dean turns away. “I thought you stopped believing in that paranormal crap in middle school, Sammy. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to get yourself together. For Eileen’s sake, if not your own.” </p><p>“You’re impossible, you know that?”</p><p>Dean gets Eileen, and Sam lets her take him home, but not before grabbing Dean’s wrist in a vice-like grip and yanking him closer. “Wake up, Dean,” he hisses desperately. “<em>Please</em>. You’re running out of time.” </p><p>Dean and Cas eat their pie and go to bed soon after. </p><p>--</p><p>Steady beeping works its way into Dean’s dreams. </p><p>He tries to outrun it, tries to make it stop, tries to <em>escape</em>, but nothing works. He’s trapped, the sound echoing and throbbing in his head like a determined fist on a door.</p><p>The hand reaches through the door, grabs him by the shoulder. “Dean, wake <em>up</em>.”</p><p>Dean shoves his hand palm-first into Cas’s face. “Shuddup,” he mumbles, “I’m tired.” </p><p>“You were having a nightmare.”</p><p>“Not anymore, sweetheart.” </p><p><em>I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world</em>, Dean thinks affectionately, and then he’s slipping, sliding, tripping backward, and inky tendrils pull him into the void</p><p>-</p><p>Steady beeping works its way into Dean’s dreams. </p><p>He tries to outrun it, tries to make it stop, tries to <em>escape</em>, but nothing works. He’s trapped, the sound echoing and throbbing in his head like a determined fist on a door. His head is splitting and his chest hurts from running and fear. There’s someone with him, but their mouth is glued shut with shadows and no matter how Dean turns, he can’t see their face.</p><p>The beeping stops abruptly and Dean relaxes, his thoughts and dreams drifting elsewhere for a time. He stops for a time in an old barn, fascinated by the symbols spray painted on the walls. If he stares long enough he’ll understand what they mean, could swear he knows exactly why they’re there. </p><p>There’s a black feather on the ground; when Dean touches it, the earth bucks beneath him, white light flashes, and he falls to the ground with a cry.</p><p>“Dean. Dean!” </p><p>Dean surfaces from the dream like a swimmer from the depths, turning in the sweat-soaked sheets to burrow against Cas’s body. His arms snake around his lover’s waist and pull him close, desperate for contact. “Cas,” he gasps into Cas’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”</p><p>Cas seems oddly hesitant, but he folds Dean into a warm hug regardless. “I’m here,” he says in a voice gravelly with sleep, “for as long as you want me to be.” </p><p><em>I’m the luckiest son of a bitch in the world</em>, Dean thinks affectionately, and then he’s slipping, sliding, tripping backward, and inky tendrils pull him into the void.</p><p>--</p><p>They have a full ranch spread for breakfast, sitting together in the airy breakfast nook that had been half the reason Dean insisted on <em>this house</em> when they were looking. Dean hears the thump of the newspaper on the doorstep as he polishes off his last piece of bacon, but Cas is staring into his empty coffee cup like he thinks it might reach up and murder him and doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>Dean retrieves it, waving airly at Mrs. Dawes across the way, and deposits it on the table next to Cas. “More coffee?” he asks, one hand on Cas’s shoulder.</p><p>“No thank you.” Cas’s hands drop to his lap, where his fingers open and close like he’s trying to hold onto something only he can see. “Dean, we need to talk.”</p><p>Dean stumbles while standing still and his heart threatens to stop entirely. “What—why? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” </p><p>“We need,” Cas stops, clears his throat, and visibly starts over. “<em>I</em> need you to listen to me very carefully, Dean. It’s important that you hear me. Can you do that?”</p><p>Dean maneuvers himself into the bench across from Cas, moving carefully like his body might shatter if touched incorrectly. He holds his hands palms-up across the table and Cas takes them in his own without a second of hesitation. His touch is just as warm and comforting as always, his eyes just as kind, his face just as fucking unfairly gorgeous. </p><p>“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling much steadier now they’re touching, “yeah, I can do that. Stop scaring me, Cas. What’s going on?”</p><p>Cas looks at their joined hands, his thumbs rubbing circles over the backs of Dean’s hands. “I’ve enjoyed these spring days with you more than I can express,” he says. “Sharing a bed, tending our garden, visiting with Sam...it’s everything I could have dreamed for you. I love seeing you so happy.” </p><p>He lifts Dean’s hands to kiss his fingertips one at a time. “I’ve even let myself get used to this,” he says with a small laugh, “the way you let me touch you...the way that you touch me. How easily you tell me you love me, like it’s the only truth that matters. It’s intoxicating, Dean. I could stay here forever. ” </p><p>“But?” Dean’s heart is breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces in his chest as he waits for the inevitable. His eyes burn, and tears drip down his cheeks. <em>Don’t leave me, Cas. Please, I can’t do this alone. I need you. I love you.</em></p><p>“It isn’t <em>real</em>, Dean.” Cas’s grip tightens when Dean tries to pull away. “I don’t mean what we have isn’t real, Dean. I love you. I always have, I always will.” He kisses Dean’s ring finger. </p><p>“What the fuck are you talking about,” Dean starts, but Cas lets go of his hand to put a finger on his lips.</p><p>“You said you would listen.” </p><p>Dean is confused and hurt, but willing to trust for a little while longer, so he closes his mouth. Cas stares at his face in silence for a count of five, then collects his hand where it fell to the table. He resumes his gentle massage, and Dean feels his alarm begin to fade. Cas isn’t leaving him, so no matter what kind of crazy shit he’s spouting, they’ll be okay. </p><p>“We are real, Dean, but this <em>world</em> isn’t. Sam tried to tell you more times than even I can count, but you wouldn’t...perhaps couldn’t...believe him.” </p><p>Cas squeezes his eyes shut. “Beyond the confines of this one perfect day you live in, your human body is wasting away. In the real world you have maybe an hour before the djinn poison destroys your brain. In here, it will feel like a few days, maybe, before things stop making sense and you succumb entirely.”</p><p>“That’s insane,” Dean says weakly. “You realize that’s utterly batshit crazy, right?” </p><p>Cas’s voice is thick with grief and fear. “I will be here, Dean. If you choose to stay, I will hold your hand until the end. When you die, I will mourn your loss until the end of time. But...I would rather you didn’t.”</p><p>“You’re <em>dead!</em>” The walls Dean built so carefully crumble, crash, and fall away instantly. He rounds the table to kneel next to Cas, knotting his hands into his shirt so hard his knuckles pop. “You’re <em>gone</em>. You told me you loved me and now you’re <em>dead.</em> This dream’s all I got left of you, Cas. It’s all I can ever have. I can’t—I can’t—” he buries his face in Cas’s lap. “I can’t lose you again.” </p><p>After a long pause he feels gentle hands in his hair. “Do you trust me, Dean?” </p><p>Dean nods, then forces himself to sit up and adds somewhat incoherently, “depends, are you trying to sacrifice yourself again?”</p><p>Cas meets his eyes with a steady, electric stare that shakes Dean to his core. “If you trust me, then wake up, Dean. Your family needs you.”</p><p>Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s shoulders and kisses him. The embrace is savage with desperation and grief, demanding everything he never dared ask and giving what he never dared bestow when they had a chance to truly experience it. His teeth nip, his tongue tastes and glides, and his fingers tangle in hair he’ll never see or touch again. </p><p>“I love you, you stupid bastard,” he whispers when he breaks away. “I’ll never forget you.” Cas looks like he wants to say something, but it’s Dean’s turn to silence him. “Don’t follow me this time, sweetheart. I don’t- don’t want you to see what I gotta do to get out of here, even if you aren’t real.”</p><p>-</p><p>The real world is much colder than the dream Dean had concocted inside his head. It’s particularly so because unlike the last time he’d found himself in a djinn funhouse and had to contrive a way home, this time pretend-Cas had helped him get there (once he understood how Dean had <em>intended </em>to leave), and it had been an unexpectedly pleasant experience.</p><p>Dean shivers, clutching at his shoulders. Something heavy falls over him almost immediately, cocooning him in warmth and the scent of mountain air. He makes a contented sound and starts to relax. Sam’s there, so he’ll be fine. Dean just needs a real nap to gather his strength before he has to face the world alone.</p><p>
  <em>Wait. Mountain air?</em>
</p><p>His eyes fly open and he sits up straight. His <em>de facto</em> blanket falls into his lap as he does; any other thought is put on hold as he traces disbelieving fingers over a tan coat that he’d last seen covered in black goo.</p><p>Sam is crouched in front of him, Dean realizes vaguely, one giant hand on his shoulder and the other snapping fingers in front of his face. “Dean,” Sam says, probably not for the first time, “you in there, dude?”</p><p>“Yes. Sam, what the fuck, where—”</p><p>There’s movement off to the side and Dean swings toward it, his hands scrambling for something, anything, to fight with.</p><p>Blue eyes glimmer in the dim light of the warehouse as Cas drops to one knee beside Dean, his tie eskew and his hair looking as if he’d just had three rounds of the world’s best sex.</p><p>“You aren’t real. You aren’t really Cas,” Dean gasps, throwing himself in the opposite direction as fast as his too-thin body can manage when the apparition reaches for him.  “<em>Don’t touch me</em>.” He doesn’t know where his gun or knife are, but he’ll take the bastard out with his bare hands if he has to.</p><p>Something has him by the shoulders and is shaking him too hard to ignore. Dean tears his eyes away from the asshole that stole his angel’s face to look at his brother instead. “What does it  want, Sammy?” he demands, “what is that thing?”</p><p>“‘That thing’ is <em>Cas</em>. Jack dumped him on our doorstep a couple days after you went missing. He also told me where to find you.” Dean shakes his head violently, but Sam just keeps going, because of course he does. “Jack told us we had a mess to clean up and then off he went. Dean...I swear that’s really Castiel.” </p><p>Dean looks down at the coat in his lap while his mind whirls. Eventually it settles on one thought: He’d been ready to die in a djinn dream, so he really doesn’t have much to lose. He takes a deep breath and looks up. </p><p>Cas is still kneeling next to him, though he’s settled on his heels and his hands are held up as if to prove he isn’t a threat. His eyes are soft...fuck, so soft...when they meet Dean’s, and his voice sounds like thunder and lightning combined. “Hello, Dean.”</p><p>“I love you,” Dean blurts, “but you’re still a stupid bastard.”</p><p>-</p><p>The next time he wakes up he’s in a bed in the bunker’s infirmary, and Cas is sitting next to him, reading.</p><p>“Never do that again,” Dean says groggily.</p><p>“I could say the same to you,” Cas replies, his voice so dry it could dehydrate fruit. He puts a ribbon in his book and sets it aside, then turns his full attention on Dean. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Dean grins up at him, his mind swimming with possibilities. “Like I could kiss an angel.”</p><p>"Dean." Cas shakes his head, but before he can laugh it off, Dean grabs his shoulder and yanks him forward.</p><p>The air smells like sanitizer and baby powder, the angle is weird, and Deans's head feels like there are pop rocks going off inside his skull, but this kiss is the best yet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello readers! If you liked this fic and you're over 18, why don't you come hang out on the <a href="https://discord.gg/profoundbond">Profound Bond</a> Discord with me? We'd love to have you!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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